The Atoll

Albin (cont.)
The victory put you off your back flip
Is your green throat tattoo the latest word
In chipset interface for white space suits?
The baby face with two bare skin stripes shaved
Through his right eyebrow on the fullest moon
Is he your baby picture blown right up?
Silvio
No on reflection Im the cardinal
Weighed down by his white mitre mooning man
My nose agreeing to meet my chin at last
Albin
Time traveller starman and astronaut
I worship searing sand you shuffle on
And lukewarm murky mud you slither through
All you see come low tide belongs to me
At your disposal lies quilt like rolled back